


Netflix and Chills

by MandalaRose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (See Title), A character in the fic has COVID-19, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Puns, Blow Jobs, Bunker Fic, Canon Compliant through 15 X 9, Castiel Watches Netflix (Supernatural), Covid-19 Related, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Non-life threatening illness, Sassy Castiel (Supernatural), Sharing a Bed, Sick Character, Sickfic, quarantine fic, with a tiny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:07:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23778874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MandalaRose/pseuds/MandalaRose
Summary: “So, what, a bunch of people in,” Dean glances back at the screen, “Woo-wherever China have a cold and you think this is Chuck’s big play? A little understated for the guy who came up with Leviathan, don’t you think?”Ever since their big plan to cage the creator went awry, Dean, Cas, and Sam have been lying low in the bunker, holding their collective breath and waiting for Chuck to make his next move. Now there's a new virus wreaking havoc on the other side of the world and Sam thinks this might be it. Dean's not convinced, but will he change his mind when the virus hits a little closer to home?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 107
Kudos: 363
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	1. Then

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, friends!
> 
> I hope you're all staying safe and well! A few weeks ago, I posted a time stamp to my story, _Stay With Me, Sweetheart,_ featuring my Cas and Dean as they prepared to help flatten the Coronavirus curve. It got me wondering how our beloved canon characters would react to our current pandemic. Well, one thing led to about 15,000 others and a canon-quarantine fic was born.
> 
> Please note that unlike my Sweetheart time stamp, in this story, one of the main character DOES contract COVID-19. They are very ill for a short time with realistic COVID-19 symptoms but at no point is their illness life-threatening. There are also BRIEF speculations regarding COVID-19 and the possible worst-case effects of an unchecked global pandemic. I do NOT in any way think those speculations are going to become our reality, but they may be upsetting for some to read, nonetheless. 
> 
> Aside form that, this little story, like most things I write, is full of idiots in love being idiots, stupid amounts of fluff, and snarky banter, with just a touch of angst, because well, Dean lives here.
> 
> This story is complete and will be posted in two parts, the second of which will post this Thursday.
> 
> Thank you to all of you for reading and to my glorious beta, [EllenOfOz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenOfOz/pseuds/EllenOfOz), for sparing you from my numerous typos and my general disdain for the finer points of grammar.

**Six Weeks Ago**

“Hey guys, so get this…”

Blinking blearily over the rim of his coffee mug, Dean scratches his stomach absently as Sam walks into the bunker’s kitchen cradling his laptop and prattling on about a new virus that’s apparently taking people out in droves over in some Chinese province. He’s clearly in nerd heaven, quoting numbers and statistics and, Dean squints,  _ Christ _ , is that a bar graph?

Tuning out the sounds of Sam’s nerdgasm and taking another sip of his coffee, Dean watches distractedly as Cas leans over the laptop, furrowing his brow and frowning seriously in that way he does when he’s humoring Sam. Or maybe Cas is genuinely interested and Dean’s just an asshole. He considers that possibility for a moment before offering up a half shrug to the universe and indulging in another sip of caffeinated bliss. If Sam hasn’t figured out by now not to expect Dean to pay attention to his nerdy shit pre-caffeine, that’s his problem.

The gesture draws Cas’ eyes to him over the top of Sam’s laptop and the angel directs a small smile his way before looking back at whatever Sam’s flailing at the screen about. Dean absent-mindedly watches the way the light from the computer plays along Cas’ features, highlighting his constant five-o-clock shadow and throwing his already chiseled jawline into sharp relief, making it look even more dramatic. Dean frowns. Angel or not, no one should be able to look that good before nine-o-clock in the morning.

He doesn’t zone back in on Sam’s words until the giant moose finally collapses onto a stool at the table, running a hand through his hair and looking at Dean eagerly as he asks, “So, what do you think?”

“What do you mean, what do I think? I think I’m glad we don’t live in China, but other than that, what is there to think?” Dean shrugs as Sam stares at him incredulously.

“Dean, did you listen to anything I just said?”

“Coffee, Sam,” Dean answers, pointing at the white ceramic mug still clutched in his left hand. “You know the rules.”

Cas shoots Dean a pointed, long-suffering look that Dean tells himself is affectionate while Sam heaves a sigh and executes a full-body eyeroll that would make his teenage self proud.

“This isn’t only affecting China, Dean. It’s already spreading and some biologists are predicting that in a few weeks’ time, we could be facing a global pandemic unlike anything we’ve seen in recent history. I think this could be it.”

At Dean’s more-explanation-required eyebrow raise, he adds, “This could be Chuck’s next move.”

Setting down his coffee and licking his lips, Dean hunches forward over the table, pulling Sam’s laptop toward him. He takes a gander at the bar graph tracking the dramatic increase in infection rates over time before looking back up at his brother skeptically.

“So, what, a bunch of people in,” Dean glances back at the screen, “Woo-wherever China have a cold and you think this is Chuck’s big play? A little understated for the guy who came up with Leviathan, don’t you think?”

Sam puts on his Dean’s-being-deliberately-obtuse bitchface and leans forward, “It’s not  _ just a cold _ , Dean. It’s a lot more serious than that. Plus, if the projections are right, this thing could kill millions world-wide, and that’s just the virus itself. The impact it could have on our economy and infrastructure…we might never recover.”

Clearly, Sam is serious about this. Sighing, Dean scrolls through the article. “Cough, fever, shortness of breath? I don’t know, Sam, still seems a little low-key for Chuck. Remember the last Apocalypse virus? Croatoan turned people into flesh-eating zombies, man. Definitely seems more up Chuck’s alley than ‘gradual onset of symptoms’ and eventual economic collapse.”

Coming to stand behind Dean, Cas rests a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Sam,” he says, casting an apologetic look at Dean’s brother, “I’m going to have to agree with Dean on this one. My father is many things, but subtle isn’t one of them. As effective as a virus could be in bringing about the end of humanity, I’m not sure it would be flashy enough to satisfy Chuck’s ego.”

Sam deflates. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

“I do, however,” Cas continues, squeezing Dean’s shoulder meaningfully, “agree that this virus is more than  _ ‘just a cold. _ ’ Whether it’s Chuck’s plan or not, Sam’s right, the effects of a global pandemic could be devastating.”

“Okay, look you two,” Dean says, setting down his now-empty coffee mug, “I know we haven’t heard a peep from Chuck since, well, since we  _ didn’t _ lock him up, but that’s no reason to jump at every potential crisis that comes along. Let’s just sit tight for now and see how this virus thing plays out. It’ll probably all blow over in a week or two.”

Sam opens his mouth to argue, but Dean cuts him off, pointing a finger across the table, “You, don’t believe everything you read on the internet.” Sam glowers. “And you…” He looks up at Cas, whose hand is still resting on Dean’s shoulder, getting momentarily lost in blue eyes that, as usual, seem to see straight through Dean.

Clearing his throat and accidentally dislodging Cas’ hand in the process, which he definitely does  _ not _ regret, he finishes lamely, “Don’t encourage him. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

**Four Weeks Ago**

Everything is definitely not fine, Dean thinks as he staggers down the bunker stairs, arms overladen with plastic grocery bags.

“Cas! Sammy,” he calls out across the war room, swearing as the flimsy plastic handle on the bag containing one of the last gallons of milk in a sixty mile radius snaps, sending the plastic jug plummeting toward the floor. Dean freezes, waiting for the inevitable sound of cracking plastic and sloshing milk, but it never comes. Instead, Cas stands back up from his sudden lunge to catch the offending dairy product, angelic reflexes saving Dean’s ass yet again.

“Nice catch,” Dean huffs as Cas, still cradling the milk jug in one arm, easily takes more than half of Dean’s remaining grocery bags in his free hand.

“Well now you’re just showing off.”

Smirking, Cas turns and starts off through the library, heading for the bunker’s kitchen. “Hello, Dean. I take it your shopping trip was a success?”

“Define  _ success, _ Cas. It’s a madhouse out there, man. I got most of the things on our list, but it’s a damn good thing I went when I did. I’ve never seen so many empty shelves.” Dean sets his bags of items down on the island in the center of the bunker’s kitchen, while Cas deposits his bags on the galley table before taking a seat there. Knowing their local market would likely already be picked clean, Dean had made the hour drive to the nearest Walmart Supercenter, hoping they would still have the necessities in stock.

Finally showing up,  _ now that all the hard work is done _ , Dean notes to himself, Sam looks at the gallon of milk sitting on the tabletop, still shrouded in the remnants of its plastic Walmart bag. “Told you to get some of those reusable totes. They’re better for the environment and you don’t have to worry about this happening.”

“Cram it, Fern Gully,” Dean says shortly.

Sam rolls his eyes before asking, “Did you at least get the Lysol like I asked? And the other cleaning products?”

Reaching into a bag, Dean pulls out a large container of bleach, setting it on the stainless steel countertop with a metallic thud.

Raising his eyebrows, Sam wisely chooses not to comment, asking instead, “What about the hand sanitizer?”

“There was no hand sanitizer, Sammy. Or Lysol. Your options are bleach or piss and vinegar…and they were out of vinegar.”

Sam’s eyes widen slightly as he takes in the six four-roll packages of toilet paper Dean’s currently stacking on the countertop. “Okay,” he says, drawing out the word, “but why did you buy so much toilet paper? We still have plenty.”

Dean recalls another world with another virus, a Cas who wasn’t  _ his  _ Cas, and a Chuck who wasn’t a colossal, all-powerful, ego-tripping douche and shakes his head. “Don’t ask. May our assholes someday forgive us though; they were out of Charmin too. I was lucky to get single-ply Scott. Almost had to fight an old lady for it.”

When Cas shoots him a disapproving look, he adds, “Hey, the goddamn harpy already had a cartful. You don’t know what it was like, man. Halfway through Walmart I was wishin’ I’d gone in armed.”

“Really, Dean? To what end? To defend yourself against an octogenarian armed with 2-ply?” Cas arches an eyebrow. “You can’t shoot your way out of every situation.”

“I don’t,” Dean defends with a smirk as he begins unpacking groceries, “Only ones I can’t charm my way out of instead.”

“So, all of them?” Sam asks with a smug smile.

Dean points at his brother with a package of celery, “I’ll have you know, plenty of people find me very charming.” He chucks the celery at Sam’s head. “Here, I got your rabbit food, bitch.”

“Oh yeah, very charming,” Sam agrees sarcastically, catching the celery in one hand and rolling his eyes. “Is that why you haven’t gone home with anyone in,” Sam pauses, thinking for a moment before finishing, “huh. You know, I actually can’t remember the last time you walk-of-shamed in here.”

“First of all,” Dean says, halting his unpacking to glare at his moose of a brother and gesture at himself smugly, “there ain’t no shame in my game. And secondly, abstinence is a personal choice, Samantha. Don’t judge me.”

Pleased with his joke, Dean goes back to unpacking his Walmart bags, looking up again when he notices a sudden silence has descended upon the kitchen. “What?” he asks as Sam and Cas both stare at him incredulously, before exchanging equally bewildered looks.

“Nothing,” Sam answers quickly, turning his back on Dean to place the celery in the bunker’s industrial refrigerator.

“The coronavirus doesn’t cause sudden changes in personality, does it?” Cas asks Sam seriously, the snarky asshole. “Maybe we should check him for fever.”

“Oh, hardy-har-har,” Dean grumbles. “Look,” he says, setting down the can of SpaghettiOs he just pulled out of the gray grocery sack, “we’ve had a lot goin’ on lately, that’s all. First with the Apocalypse world, then with getting the refugees settled.” Dean swallows, “And then there was Mom…and Jack.” At the mention of Mom and Jack, Cas looks down at his hands, folded on the tabletop, and Dean finds himself staring at them too, wishing he could cover them with his own as his heart twists in his chest.

It’s a long moment before Sam says softly, “Yeah, I know. But there was a bit there, where things were…good, right? At least they got to be here for that.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees with another swallow, “there was.” He doesn’t add that the good time, when their whole family was here in the bunker, when  _ Cas _ was here, when things weren’t broken and tense and so goddamn painful between them, was the time when Dean was  _ least _ interested in finding a welcoming body in a strange bed to distract himself.

Suddenly, Sam’s solemn expression turns to one of horror as he takes in the countertop full of potato chips, canned goods, and processed, pre-packaged meals. Seeing the look of disgust, Dean waves a package of twinkies at his health-nut brother. “What? How long do you think kale’s gonna hold up if we’re under quarantine, Sam? These babies’ll keep forever.”

Carrying a shopping bag to the freezer, Dean pulls open the heavy door. Standing and walking across the kitchen to join him, Cas looks between the grocery bag and Dean, arching an eyebrow as Dean loads a variety of frozen pies into the deep freeze. “Really, Dean? I thought you were only going to buy the necessities?”

“Hey,” Dean stands up straight and pokes Cas in the (very solid) chest with a finger, “a world without pie ain’t a world worth savin’.”

Cas shakes his head with a small, fond smile before looking between the two Winchesters. “You do both realize that, should you contract the virus, I can heal you?”

Dean shakes his head, animatedly waving away Cas’ suggestion. “Unh uh, no way. You’ve said so yourself, Cas, your mojo’s on the fritz. We don’t know how much longer it’s gonna hold up or what’ll happen when it runs out. So, you just keep your magic fingers to yourself, you hear me? Me and Sam’ll be fine.”

Cas visibly sulks and Dean resists the urge to reach out and comfort him. Per fucking usual, it’s his fault Cas feels like shit right now. Dean’s probably the last person he’d want comfort from.

As Cas pouts, Dean looks up to see Sam standing behind him mouthing, “Magic fingers?”

Fighting down a blush he flips his asshole of a brother off. “Shut it, Sasquatch. You know what I meant.”

He can still hear Sam’s laughter behind him as he makes his way out of the kitchen.

**Two Weeks Ago**

Setting his still untouched mug of coffee down on the table, Dean shivers and clutches his Dead Guy Robe closer around himself as he doubles over in his third coughing fit since entering the kitchen ten minutes ago.

Eyebrows lifting, Sam pulls his bowl of whatever oatmeal-muesli-granola nightmare he’s eating for breakfast toward himself, while Cas’ forehead wrinkles in concern. Well good, at least one of them gives a damn that Dean’s dying over here. Expression grave, Cas steps into Dean’s space and Dean straightens and heaves in a breath, waving weakly in an attempt to fend off the angel’s outstretched fingers. Unfortunately, that just triggers another coughing fit.

Cas rolls his eyes, “Relax, Dean. I’m not going to ‘mojo’ you. I’m just checking to see if you’ve contracted COVID-19. I can do that much without expending any grace.” It’s amazing how even though Cas doesn’t physically  _ do _ the air quotes anymore, he’s somehow managed to  _ verbalize  _ them instead. Goddamn wavelength of celestial  _ sass _ is what he is.

“I think you should let him, Dean. It’s that or a trip to the hospital and then eight to ten days of isolation before you even get your test results,” Sam argues reasonably.

Glaring, Dean relents, leaning back against the bunker wall and letting Cas place two fingers against his forehead.

A moment later, Cas frowns. “You’re positive for the virus. And also have a fever of one hundred two point three degrees Fahrenheit. You should return to bed. And drink plenty of fluids.”

“Gee, thanks, Baymax,” Dean grumbles, rolling his eyes at the angel’s robotic diagnosis.

Still hunched protectively over his breakfast, Sam smirks. “So,  _ that’s _ why you cried at the end of that movie.”

Dean glowers, voice-raising as he defends himself, “He sacrificed himself, Sam. For his friend. It was a heartwarming scene. And I didn’t  _ cry _ , bitch.” The adamance of Dean’s defense launches him into yet another coughing fit, one that has Cas springing into action.

“Enough.” The angel looks disapprovingly at both brothers, who each settle back in their seats, chastened. Well, Sam settles back, pulling his bowl of hippy-mush with him. Dean tries to look as appropriately apologetic as he can while still coughing up a lung.

Walking over to Sam like he’s about to smite an invading army, because even after a decade, his angel still hasn’t mastered the art of casual…anything, Cas places two fingers against Sam’s forehead. “Sam, you are not currently infected with the coronavirus. However, if you’re to remain that way, we need to keep you and Dean separated. Unless, of course,” the angel aims a pointed look in Dean’s direction, “I heal Dean.”

“No,” Dean says firmly. Well, he shoots for firm, but his voice comes out weak and reedy instead.  _ Fuck. _

Cas’ lips thin incrementally, but he accepts Dean’s answer, clearly having expected it. Looking distinctly dissatisfied, but resigned, he starts hashing out a plan with Sam. It’s definitely not the expression Dean wishes he could put on Cas’ face, but it’ll have to do. Man though, what he’d give to be able to make the angel look something other than disappointed for a goddamn change.

As Dean tries to catch his breath, Sam and Cas quickly draft their treat-Dean-like-a-goddamn-leper plan. Dean will be quarantined to his room and the Dean Cave, while Sam gets to visit the library, the kitchen, and the gym (not that Dean spends a lot of time in that last one anyway). Since Cas is an angel and can’t contract the virus, he’ll deliver Dean’s meals, as well as acting as go-between to make sure he and Sam don’t accidentally cross paths in the hallway over the next fourteen days.

“Might as well just lock me in the dungeon,” Dean argues petulantly. Cas rolls his eyes while Sam shoots Dean his Dean’s-being-a-child bitchface. Both ignore Dean as they return to discussing a goddamn shower schedule, of all things. Apparently, Sam gets to shower in the mornings (no arguments from Dean there) and Dean can shower at night.

“You two wanna schedule my bathroom breaks while you’re at it? ‘Cause if so, you should probably know I gotta take a dump about thirty minutes after dinner.”

“Believe me, we know.” Sam says drily and Dean feels a sudden burst of mortification at the thought of Cas knowing his bathroom habits. What the hell? The fever must be making him feel extra-sensitive, he reasons. Of course Cas knows his bathroom habits. The three of them have shared a tiny motel room on more than one occasion. So long as Cas only knows  _ those _ bathroom habits, everything is fine.

“You know, Dean, none of these precautions would be necessary if you would just let me heal you.” Cas tries again and aha! He knew the angel wasn’t ready to give that up yet.

“Ain’t gonna happen, Cas. You can ground me to my room and I’ll stick to your stupid quarantine schedule, but you ain’t wastin’ your grace because I’ve got a little cough.”

Stalking off toward his room before his “little cough” can send him doubling over and gasping for breath again, Dean calls out behind him, “And my first meal delivery better include pie.”

**Ten Days Ago**

Another coughing fit racks Dean’s body and he struggles to pull in a breath as he heaves his duffle, still half-full from their last hunt, onto the bed.

“What are you doing?” Cas asks from the doorway of Dean’s prison cell, oh wait, bedroom.

“What’s it look like?” Dean snaps as he starts haphazardly shoving half-folded laundry into his duffle with not even half the care he usually shows when packing. Normally, he’d add some kind of smart ass comment to that question, but he’s far too agitated for that right now. His mind’s racing a mile a minute and he feels like he’s about to jump right out of his goddamn skin.

He hasn’t felt like this since he first came back from Hell, when he could still see the goddamn knife in his hand and feel its heft slicing through skin, sinew, and muscle (sometimes his, sometimes that of the poor saps he hacked into when Alistair let him off the rack) every time he closed his eyes. He knows this at least partly because with his temperature spiking, the nightmares are worse than they’ve been in years. Plus, being trapped under-goddamn-ground probably isn’t helping matters.

“You can’t go anywhere for at least nine more days, Dean. You know that.” Ah yes. Can’t have a prison without a warden, come to make sure Dean stays in line. Alastair liked to make sure Dean stayed in line, too.

_ What the fuck? _ Dean freezes, balled-up t-shirt in-hand. He’s comparing Cas to  _ Alastair _ now?  _ This _ is why he needs to get the hell out of this bunker, before he really fucks up and says something that dickish out loud. 

Trying to shake off both the guilt and the fever he can feel clouding his head and heating his cheeks, he resumes packing. “Look, Cas, quarantined or not, I gotta get outta here. Go for a drive. Get some fresh air. Find a ghost to gank. I promise not to cross paths with anything living, but if I gotta keep starin’ at these same four walls for another week and a half, I’m gonna lose my damn mind.”

Instead of arguing, Cas tilts his head to the side, studying Dean in that intense, familiar way of his. At one point, that level of scrutiny would have felt distinctly unnerving, but somehow, now, it’s a comfort. Dean knows now what it felt like when Cas  _ stopped _ wanting to study Dean like that, when he  _ stopped  _ trying to figure him out. He knows how it felt when Cas  _ left. _

“This is difficult for you,” the angel says, stating the obvious.

“Uh, yeah? Like it’s not for you? You’ve been trapped here right along with me. You can’t tell me that doesn’t chafe for a guy who’s used to having the whole goddamn universe at his wingtips.” Dean suppresses a sudden surge of guilt.

Cas really has stuck right by his side throughout this entire ordeal so far. Being the only one who can’t contract the virus means he’s also the only one that either Dean or Sam can directly interact with. And it hasn’t escaped Dean’s notice that while Cas makes sure to visit Sam every day, the bulk of his time has been spent either right here in Dean’s room or in the Dean Cave, watching reruns of  _ Roseanne _ and other nostalgic nineties sitcoms that used to make Dean wish for a life that wasn’t his. Dean’s not sure if that’s just Cas’ preference or if he’s really handling this whole isolation thing that much worse than Sam. He’s also not sure he wants to know the answer to that question, so he doesn’t ask.

Cas sighs wearily. “I wasn’t just referring to the quarantine, Dean. What I meant was that it’s difficult for you, facing an enemy you can’t just ‘gank.’ Most of your opponents, even those that aren’t visible, can be stopped by bullets or blades. And those that can’t can be attacked by magic or some other supernatural means. But you can’t fight a virus. All you can do is let it run its course. You could salt and burn the bones of every ghost from here to Texas and it’s not going to change that. And that’s beside the fact that I’m fairly certain you couldn’t even make it up the stairs and out of the bunker in your current condition.”

Ignoring the sting at Cas’ completely  _ not true _ words (he could totally make it up those stairs if he really wanted to. Those stairs are his bitch), he glares at the angel defiantly, stepping into his space and raising his voice. “And that doesn’t bother you? That’s not ‘difficult’ for you? Knowing that after everything we’ve done, everything we’ve been through, Chuck might’ve finally found a way to take out the human race that we can’t fight and it’s the goddamn sniffles?”

His shouting having spurred yet another coughing fit, Dean doubles over, bracing himself against the bed as he coughs. Cas reaches for him, pulling back with a frown when Dean throws himself backward onto his pillow, pulling an arm over his still feverish forehead. His fever’s definitely improved over the past few days, but it still hasn’t broken. He hears a shuffle and a thud as Cas moves the duffle to the floor, before settling on the bed next to Dean with a clearly vexed sigh. And Dean’s not going to think about how long he’s been able to distinguish between the angels’ different types of sighs, for Christ’s sake. He may as well be in a goddamn Jane Austen novel.

“What’s difficult for me is watching someone I care about suffer, when I know I could heal him with a touch.”

The words are said plainly and there’s something about the “him” in that sentence that catches in Dean’s brain. Somehow that one word makes that entire sentence sound a lot less like the generic “I happen to care about a lot of people, including plaid-wearing pain-in-the ass hunters,” statement it probably is and more the “I care about  _ Dean _ , in particular” Dean wishes it was.

Either way, he hopes his cheeks are still flushed enough from the fever to cover his blush. “You know why I won’t let you.”

“Yes, because you’re a stubborn, self-sacrificing ass.”

Lifting the arm still covering his eyes, Dean shoots a pointed look at the ever trench-coated angel. “Oh really?  _ You _ wanna lecture me about being stubborn and self-sacrificing?”

Cas just smirks in return. “I did learn from the best.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean can’t help but chuckle at that. Smartass angel.

Cas stands back up and Dean feels a momentary pang at the sudden distance between them, but then the angel is slipping off his trench coat, suit jacket, and shoes, before picking up what looks to be Sam’s laptop from Dean’s dresser. Computer in-hand, Cas climbs back on the bed and lies down next to Dean, whose eyebrows climb toward his hairline at the unexpected (though not entirely unwelcome) feeling of six feet of solid angel pressed along his side. He takes a moment to be thankful he can blame the sudden breathiness in his voice on the virus attacking his respiratory system.

“Uh, Cas? Whatcha doin’ there, buddy?”

Cas turns on his side so he can look Dean in the eye and whoa, is his face close. Like really, really close. Dean swallows.

“Humans need touch, Dean. You are very social creatures. It’s intrinsic to your nature. And you, more than most, are a very tactile being.”

Cas is lying in Dean’s bed. Cas is lying in Dean’s bed and talking about  _ touching _ Dean. Dean was shivering from his fever a moment ago, but now he swears he can feel it burning him up from the inside. He knows that Cas means his words innocently, but he can’t help where his brain goes. So, in typical Dean fashion, he deflects.

“’M not a ‘tactile being,'” he grumbles petulantly. He’s about to drag himself away from Cas and put a few respectable, manly inches between them (he swears he is), but instead freezes when he catches sight of the sadness in Cas’ pristine blue eyes.

“Please, Dean. If you won’t let me heal you, let me do this.”

And how the hell is Dean supposed to say no to that? So, he doesn’t.

“Alright, fine. But what’s that for?” He points at the laptop. “We gonna ‘Netflix and chill?’” Dean winces at his poor choice in joke, but then realizes Cas almost certainly doesn’t know what that expression means.

The angel shrugs. “I told Sam you seem to have a more difficult time with your isolation in the evenings, when you’re in your room. He thought a movie might be a good distraction from your illness.”

_ You’re a ‘good distraction,  _ Dean thinks as he lies back and tries to relax, though how he’s supposed to do that when he can feel the heat of Cas’ body all along his side is beyond him. Wait, if humans need touch and Cas is the only one who can be around both him  _ and  _ Sam, does that mean Cas is touching Sam too?

Fortunately, before Dean’s completely unhelpful mind can wander too far down that disturbing path, another coughing fit overtakes him and he curls up on his side, facing away from Cas as he alternates between dry, barking coughs and shuddering, ragged breaths.

After a moment, he feels the angel’s hand on his back. Dean stiffens at first, thinking the angel is about to disregard his wishes and heal him anyways, but then relaxes again as Cas starts rubbing his back in soothing circles. It feels…nice, to be touched in this way.

Dean’s no stranger to touch. He is after all, a “tactile being,” but the touches he’s accustomed to are a brief hug, a pat on the shoulder, or well, sex. This though, this kind of sustained, comforting touch is different and once the coughing ends Dean doesn’t move, doesn’t turn over or sit up to dislodge Cas’ hand like he knows he should.

Cas doesn’t stop the slow, even circles and before Dean can think about what that means, he’s snoring softly next to his angel.

**One Week Ago**

Dean wakes slowly, head pillowed on Cas’ broad chest, Cas’ arm wrapped securely around him. He feels a flush rising to his face that has nothing to do with the fever still making sporadic appearances, rocketing upwards again just as soon as Dean thinks it’s gone for good. At least he doesn’t panic and nearly fall out of bed the way he did the first time he woke up this way, after falling asleep next to Cas following his coughing fit three days ago.

He pulls his arm back from where it’s draped around the angel’s waist, trying not to notice the well-defined abs his fingers are drifting across. Cas gives his shoulder a squeeze before releasing Dean and sitting up, reaching to the nightstand and picking up a bowl, before carefully handing it to Dean.

“I brought your lunch.”

Blinking blearily down at the egg noodles and bits of carrot in his bowl, Dean thinks about how he just woke up and wonders aloud, “How did you manage that?”

Smiling fondly at him in a way that makes Dean’s chest ache even more than the goddamn coughing, Cas answers, “With some difficulty. I’m fairly certain you become half-cephalopod in your sleep.”

The gentle teasing stirs something inside of Dean and he squashes it. This entire scene, waking up with Cas in his bed, eating the soup Cas brought him, the affectionate banter, the  _ cuddling _ , these are things that Dean doesn’t get to have. Things he doesn’t get to  _ keep _ . There’s no sense in getting used to them. So, he does the Dean Winchester thing…and ruins it.

“Yeah, well, you tell anyone that and I’ll kill you, angel or not. Capisce?”

“Of course, Dean. Your secrets are safe with me.” A new sadness overtakes the lingering affection on Cas’ face and Dean hates himself a little bit more than usual, which is saying something. He can’t though. He can’t let himself get used to soft touches and…warm soup?

“Hey, Cas?” Dean glances at the clock on the nightstand. “It’s three-thirty now. When exactly did you get my lunch?”

When Cas doesn’t answer right away, Dean raises an eyebrow. Busted.

“Dude. Did you mojo my soup hot?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cas answers too quickly this time, failing to meet Dean’s eyes.

“That ain’t a no, Cas.” Dean pulls his knee up in between them, shifting and turning sideways in the bed so he can glare at the angel next to him. He knows the effect is probably ruined by his sleep rumpled appearance, especially with the way he can feel his hair sticking up on one side, but he does his best anyway. “Man, this is exactly the kind of thing I’ve been talkin’ about. You can’t be wasting your grace like that.”

At that, lightning blue eyes rise from the faded beige blanket and meet Dean’s. “Taking care of you is not a waste, Dean.” Cas huffs. “And weakened or not, I’m more than capable of heating a bowl of chicken noodle soup. It doesn’t require any more grace than checking your temperature, which is also  _ not  _ a waste,” he adds dangerously as Dean opens his mouth to argue.

The angel-invalid staring match continues for nearly a full minute before Dean’s stomach rumbles loudly. Cas’ expression doesn’t change, but his eyebrow does tick upward infinitesimally. Smug bastard.

Dean looks down at the bowl, scooping up a noodle and a piece of celery with a little more vigor than is absolutely necessary. His spoon is halfway to his mouth when he suddenly thinks to ask, “Hey, where’s my pie?”

Cas nods to the dresser across the room, where a perfectly-sized piece of blackberry pie sits waiting, its sugared crust glimmering in the lamp light. “Last night you ate your pie, then only ate three bites of your dinner,” he explains. “Soup first.”

Glowering defiantly at the attractively rumpled angel next to him, tie missing, dress shirt untucked and wrinkled, Dean slurps a noodle obnoxiously and takes satisfaction in the way Cas’ eyes narrow.

“Yes, Mom.”

He freezes as they both realize what he just said and Cas drops his eyes to the bed, hands fisting guiltily in the bed sheets covering his lap. Shifting his weight to balance the soup bowl one-handed, Dean place’s his other on top of Cas’.

“Hey, don’t. I didn’t mean anything by it. And I meant it before. What I said in Purgatory.”  _ And all the things I didn’t say¸  _ Dean adds to himself.

“I know,” Cas smiles at him sadly. “I could feel your sincerity then and I still can now. It’s just, I miss her too, sometimes. I know she was your mother and I’ll never miss her the way you do, but she was also my friend.”

“Yeah, Cas. I know.” Yet another sharp barb of regret sticks Dean at the reminder of how he treated Cas after Mom died. Hell, how he’s still been treating him since. How has he never thought to ask Cas how he’s doing with all this? They guy’s been mourning Mom and Jack the same way he and Sam have and even now, he clearly feels like he can’t even talk to Dean about it.  _ Fuck. _ He hopes Sam has been there for Cas at least, since he clearly hasn’t been. Well, better late than never.

Dean takes a breath, feeling distinctly underqualified for this conversation. A Winchester shouldn’t be entrusted to care for the emotional well-being of a goldfish, let alone a celestial being that didn’t even have emotions until about a decade ago, but here they are. He’s all Cas has got right now, so he’ll have to be enough.

“Do you, uh,” Dean clears his throat. “Do you wanna talk about it? You’re allowed to, you know. To talk about it. And to miss her.” There. That wasn’t so bad.

Cas looks surprised at the invitation, but not displeased. The angel settles back against the wall behind them, his bed-head from an actual  _ bed  _ for once and his rolled up sleeves making him look so soft, so  _ human, _ Dean feels that ache again.

“I miss our talks,” Cas finally starts after taking a moment to seemingly collect his thoughts. “Mary understood things about me that no one else here really can. She knew what it was like to feel…like an outsider, like she didn’t quite belong, even with the people she loved most.”

Dean opens his mouth, but Cas is quick to reassure him, “It was nothing you or Sam did. It was just, when she first came back to this world, it wasn’t  _ her _ world, the world she knew. She was always just a little out of step. It got better as time went on, but it was a feeling she and I had in common.”

The “that you and I don’t,” is left unsaid, but Dean feels it anyway. He promises himself that he’s going to do better. He’s going to start spending every day showing Cas that he belongs here. With them. With  _ Dean. _

“Most of all, I miss how happy her being here made you.”

Dean startles at that. He looks at his angel’s sympathy-filled expression before looking away again, staring down at his hand, still covering Cas’.

“I miss her.” He pauses as his eyes fill with tears, willing them not to spill over. “God do I miss her.”

Cas turns his palm over and laces their fingers together, giving Dean’s hand a squeeze. Dean looks up at him then, meeting blue eyes filled with their own unshed tears. “But she’s not the only thing that makes me happy.”

He can’t bring himself to add the “You make me happy,” that’s playing on a loop in his mind, but by the way Cas smiles fondly as he gives Dean’s hand one final squeeze and says, “Eat your soup, Dean,” he thinks maybe Cas heard it anyway.

**Three Days Ago**

“Two more days, Dean. Just two.”

Dean stops in his tracks where he’s been pacing the length of the Dean Cave like a caged animal, turning to stare at Cas incredulously. It’s the same mantra Dean’s heard for the past three days, ever since his fever finally broke and he was able to take a full breath without feeling like his lungs were gonna turn inside-out afterward.

_ Just five more days, Dean.  _

_ Four more days and you can go out again. _

_ It’s just three days, Dean. You can handle three more days. _

Dean’s sick of it. He’s sick of the countdown. He’s sick of the bunker. He’s sick of watching Cas walk down the hallway to the kitchen, Sam, the library, and who the fuck knows where else Dean can’t follow. He’s sick of spending his evenings pressed up against Cas’s side, with Cas’ arm around his shoulders or his fingers combing mindlessly through Dean’s hair, surrounded in the sharp ozone scent of him and wondering what the hell it all  _ means. _

At first, Dean expected the cuddling and coddling and Netflix bingeing to stop once his health started to improve. Braced himself for it, even. But it didn’t. Cas just kept on the same way they had been, spending nearly every spare moment with Dean, fussing at him to finish his meals and holding him until he fell asleep at night to a soundtrack of old Westerns or horror flicks, either not noticing or ignoring when Dean woke up hard as goddamn nails.

Since Sam had been reclaiming his laptop during the day (probably to make it easier to chat with Eileen, who Cas informs him Sam has been communicating with almost daily during their quarantine), they’d moved their daytime Netflix sessions to the Dean Cave. Dean had hoped having a little space from Cas and not being pressed up against the angel in his bed all day long might help him clear his head, but he’s just as frustrated as ever.

“I know you want to get out here, Dean. But please, you need…”

The truth is, Dean should want to get out of here. He  _ should _ , but he doesn’t. In all honesty, he  _ could _ just let Cas use his mojo to verify the virus has truly finished its course and is out of his system. He’ll have to eventually anyways, since he can’t go back out into public until they’re certain he won’t infect anyone else. He  _ could  _ just let Cas check him a couple days early.

He doesn’t. He waits. Because when those "two more days" are up, when his quarantine is finally lifted, what does that mean for him and Cas? For this _ … _ this thing they have, whatever it is? What happens when there’s no more reason for Cas to spend his days next to Dean, watching Netflix? No more reason to crawl into Dean’s bed at night? More questions Dean’s too afraid to hear the answers to.

What Dean  _ wants _ , what he  _ needs _ , is more. More of this. More of Cas. Hell,  _ all _ of Cas.

What he says is, “What I  _ need _ is to get the hell outta here. Look at me, Cas, I’m fine. I don’t  _ need _ this. I don’t need to be quarantined. I don’t need to be coddled and spoon-fed chicken noodle soup. And I don’t need…” Locking eyes with Cas and seeing the suddenly closed-off expression on his face, Dean freezes, realizing abruptly he’s been shouting.

“Tell me, Dean. What else don’t you need?” Cas asks quietly, his voice tinged with heartbreak and steel.

“That’s not what I meant,” Dean pleads, voice suddenly hoarse with something that makes him feel far sicker than the coronavirus did.

“Of course it’s not.” Cas looks away, toward the door. Like he can’t stand the sight of Dean. Like he can’t wait to get away.

Dean doesn’t blame him.

“Did you even mean any of it?” Cas whispers.

Did he mean any of it? What is Cas talking about? Right now, what Dean just said?

Or is he talking about the past week? Has Cas really been wondering the same thing as him? Does that mean he’s  _ feeling _ the same things as Dean? After everything Dean’s done, said, all the shit he’s put Cas through over the years?

Before he can figure it out, Cas is picking up his trench coat and heading for the hall beyond the Dean Cave.

“Since I’m not needed, I suppose I’ll be going. Goodbye, Dean. I’d appreciate it if you’d honor the rest of your quarantine, but you’ve made it abundantly clear that my opinion on the matter isn’t welcome.”

After a stunned moment, Dean’s brain kicks back into gear, because no.

Unh uh. No way. He let Cas walk away from him once before. That’s one mistake Dean’s  _ not _ gonna make again.

“Cas, wait. Cas. Castiel!”

Dean shouts after the angel, but he doesn’t turn around. Keeps walking.

“Stay.”

Cas stops.

Dean tries again, voice quiet and broken as it carries down the empty hall, “You don’t have to be around me right now, but just…don’t leave the bunker. Stay. Please.”

Cas drops his head. Dean’s not sure, but he thinks maybe he sees Castiel nod before he starts moving again, turning the corner and disappearing from sight.

For a moment, Dean thinks about going after him, but literally the last thing Cas asked of him was that he finish out his quarantine. If he chases after him now, he’ll just be reinforcing the idea that Cas’ opinion doesn’t matter to him.

Retreating to his bedroom, he spends the next few hours filled with anxiety, wondering if he made the right call, thinking about how far away from the bunker, from _ Dean _ , Cas could be by now.

He worries and thinks and regrets.

It’s nearly dinner time and he’s just made up his mind to go after Cas, quarantine-be-damned, to search the whole goddamn country if he has to, to find his angel and bring him home, when his phone buzzes.

Cas’ message reads, “Open your door.”

Relief surging through him, Dean throws the bedroom door open, expecting to see a trench coat and searching blue eyes and finding instead…chicken noodle soup and apple pie.

Letting out something between a laugh and a sob, Dean collapses against his bedroom wall, sliding down until he’s sitting next to his dinner in the open doorway.

Reaching past the pie, he picks up the steaming bowl of soup.

It’s gonna be a long two days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think? Did Dean do the right thing, not chasing after Cas?
> 
> It's definitely going to be a looong 2 days until Thursday, when we find out! (Yes, I did that on purpose. And yes, I know I'm a terrible person.)
> 
> See you soon, friends!


	2. Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies! 
> 
> Are you ready to find out what comes next for our boys? Do you think Dean actually lasted those two whole days without going after Cas?
> 
> Let's find out!

**Today**

“What did you do?”

“What do you mean, what did I do?” Dean asks defensively. “How do you know I did anything? And why are you FaceTiming me anyway? You know our quarantine is up today, right?”

Sam’s eyes roll on Dean’s phone screen and why the hell did Dean let the damn moose talk him into FaceTiming? He can feel Sam’s judgment over audio just fine. He doesn’t need a goddamn visual to go with it.

“Because Cas hasn’t cleared you yet. Cas, who, by the way, has spent the past two days sulking in every part of the bunker you  _ aren’t  _ allowed in. And not that I don’t like having him around, but he’s kind of bringing down the mood of the room, which is pretty impressive given that we’re  _ in quarantine,  _ Dean. So yeah, whatever you did, fix it.”

“You don’t think I’ve tried? It’s kinda hard to apologize when I can’t get him to be in the same room as me, Samantha.”

“Isn’t he still bringing you food?”

Dean glares at the phone. “You’ve known the guy’s been avoiding me for two days and you’re just  _ now _ wondering if he’s still feeding me?”

Sam’s not wrong though. Cas has still been bringing his meals, though he’s started varying the times that he brings them, just so he can avoid running into Dean. He’s still texting Dean rather than knocking on the door, too. The one time Dean thought he’d be clever and just sit in the hallway and wait for Cas to show up was the one meal he missed. After that, he took the hint and stayed in his room with the door shut. Even the pie has continued and Dean dutifully eats every bite. He never knew coconut crème could taste so much like regret.

“Stop being dramatic. I’ve seen him cooking for you. At least, I’m going to assume that pie was for you. Although, I guess he could have been baking it just to drive you crazy with the smell…” Sam trails off, looking thoughtful.

“No, that’s something  _ you _ would do, Sam. Cas would never be so cruel. Unlike some people, he l—” Dean cuts himself off abruptly, realizing he’d been about to say, "He loves me."

Apparently he’s already said too much though, because Sam’s voice softens slightly as he says, “Yeah, he does, so like I said,  _ fix it. _ ”

“I’m plannin’ on it, okay?” Eager to change the subject, he adds, “How’s Eileen?”

“Uh, good, she’s good.” Sam’s telltale blush tells him that things with the saucy (don’t tell Eileen he called her that, though) hunter are far more than "good" and he raises an eyebrow. 

“Oh, do tell? What’s so  _ good _ in all this mess?”

“Well, she’s um, she’s been quarantining too. She’s not sick,” Sam hastens to add when Dean’s expression turns to one of concern, then blushes an even deeper shade when he explains, “but if we’ve both been isolated for fourteen days then we’ll know neither of us has the virus and, um…”

Sam hesitates and Dean eagerly takes the chance to jump in, waggling his eyebrows, “And then you can try the thing I saw in that video where the Asian chick turns her bra into a face mask.”

“Gross, Dean.” Sam makes a face. “I don’t need to know what happens in your weird quarantine porn.”

“You sure you don’t need some pointers there, Sam? It has been a while…unless you’re finally gonna admit that ‘it’s not like that’ line you kept givin’ me when Eileen was stayin’ here was bullshit.” Dean lifts his brows in challenge, but Sam just smirks and arches his own brow in response.

“Pointers, huh? I thought we established the other day that it’s been just as long for you? So, unless you’ve managed to get laid in the past couple of weeks, I’d say we’re on pretty even ground. And we know you’ve only been around  _ one _ person in the last thirteen days, so…”

Refusing to even acknowledge that statement (and hoping the shitty lighting in his room will hide his blush), Dean rushes to ask, “So, is Eileen coming here? If so, you two better ‘socially distance’ yourselves from all the common areas of the bunker. I’ve been stuck in this room and the Dean Cave for two weeks. I’m not about to stay cooped up in here while you two try and figure out how a great dane can mate with a chihuahua. I even miss the  _ library,  _ Sam.”

Sam makes a face at the great dane-chihuahua comment, but decides not to respond (Asshole. That’s for the Cas-sex joke).

“Not here. She’s not ready for that.” Sam shakes his head. “She’s still worried Chuck might use her again, but she said as much as she’s still not sure about the whole Chuck thing, she is sure about me. About us.”

Sam’s face is still tomato-red, but he looks happy too, happier than Dean’s seen him in years, even. And Dean’s happy for his brother, he is, but he can’t help the twinge of disappointment he feels at knowing Sam’s planning to take off as soon as their quarantine is over. He’s missed the giant moose these past couple of weeks.

“So, I guess you’re bustin’ outta here now that our time’s up?” He tries to keep his tone light, but as always, Sam sees right through him.

“I thought…maybe, but it doesn’t have to be right away. I just figured you’d have Cas, you know, but I can totally stay for a while.” Sam’s words say one thing, but the goddamn puppy eyes he’s giving Dean are telling another story entirely. And even without the eyes, there’s no way in hell Dean’s standing between Sam and his second (third?) chance with Eileen.

“Don’t be stupid, Sam. Of course you’re goin’. I’ve told you before, man, we don’t get a lotta shots at happiness in this life. This girl? She’s yours. I’m sure of it. And she’s way too fuckin’ good for a Winchester, so you better make a move now before she figures that out.”

Sam chuckles and looks down. “No kidding,” he agrees, running a hand through his freakin’ Fabio locks, before looking back into the camera, eyes soft. “Thanks, Dean.”

Dean hasn’t even set his phone down from ending his conversation with Sam when it buzzes again, Claire’s face popping up on his screen this time. 

Cas may be the only other person Dean’s been around  _ physically _ in the past thirteen days, but thanks to the magic of technology, he and Sam have both been in contact with several of their hunter friends. Jody and the girls, Donna, and New Charlie (as Dean can’t help but think of her still). Hell, even Bobby had FaceTimed him, though the old guy couldn’t seem to figure out how the selfie camera worked, so Dean ended up talking to Bobby’s mud-caked work boots the entire time.

Thinking about how short their list of living friends has grown again, Dean can’t help but wince internally as he taps his screen to accept Claire’s video call.

“What did you do?”

Oh, great, this again. Did Cas tattle on him to Bad Attitude Barbie, too?

“I didn’t do anything,” he defends himself again. For some reason, lying to Claire makes him feel a lot guiltier than lying to Sam, so he adds, “Much. I mean, no more than normal.”

“Oh, because  _ that’s  _ comforting. You guys  _ just _ started talking again and you had to go and be a dick already? I expected better of you, Hasslehoff. Don’t ask me why, but I did.”

“Well, there was your first mistake.” Dean flops down on his bed, cocking one arm behind his head. He’s being petulant now, he knows, but he doesn’t care.

“What, do you actually want him to leave again?” Claire asks sharply.

“What?” Dean sits up, trying to keep the sudden panic he feels out of his voice as he asks, “Cas is leaving? Did he really say he was gonna leave?”

Claire’s face softens minutely as she answers, “No. He’s not leaving. At least, I don’t think so. He did mention the possibility of coming to visit though.”

Shit.

“So, what happened?”

Dean sighs. “Nothing happened.”

Claire just raises her eyebrows and seriously, just fuck FaceTime. It’s old school phone calls for Dean from here on out.

He rolls his eyes. “I just got sick and tired of being cooped up in this goddamn bunker and I might have been a dick.”

“Really?” Claire says disbelievingly. “That’s all? Because Cas, for some unknown reason, is usually pretty good about putting up with your pissy ass moods.”

“Yeah, well maybe he’s finally figured out I’m not worth the hassle.” Dean accidentally voices the fear that’s been plaguing him since Cas walked out of his room the other day.

“Oh my god,” Claire says with a roll of her eyes, drawing out the final word. “Can you even hear yourself right now? Sure Jan, Cas has put up with your prissy bitchfits for a decade now, including that time you were an  _ actual demon,  _ but now all of a sudden he’s decided he can’t handle two weeks of you being a stir crazy asshole? Yeah, that must be it.”

Glowering at the phone, Dean scoffs. “I am so not Jan. If I’m anyone, I’m Marsha. And do you even know who the freakin’ Brady Bunch are?”

“Um, of course I do? It’s one of the old people shows Jody watches. I told her if she’s hoping me and Alex’ll ever get along that well, she can keep dreaming.”

Dean offers up a bit of a smile at that. This containment has been almost as hard on Claire as it has on him. With Jody being sheriff and Alex a nurse, they’ve both been working more than normal, while Claire’s stuck at home, “socially distancing” with the rest of society. She’s been able to go on a few quick hunts, but with people staying inside and not wandering down dark alleyways or getting drunk and lowering their inhibitions, even the supernatural activity has been less than usual lately.

Plus, it’s kind of hard to hunt when you can’t interview any witnesses. The few baddies Claire has managed to take out, she caught by taking a “socially distanced” stroll at night and offering herself up as bait, which Jody was far from thrilled about.

“Still drivin’ you crazy, huh?” Dean asks.

“If I have to hear about how she’s put in more than sixty hours this week and how ‘this thing is gonna blow up, Claire, you have no idea,’ one more time, I’m gonna lose it.”

“Hey, take it easy on her, kid. She’s not intentionally makin’ your life more miserable, you know. Usually, you’re the one out there, bein’ the hero, comin’ home with stories. It’s her turn. She’s seein’ and dealin’ with a lotta shit right now and even though it’s different from the shit we deal with, it still sucks. And she’s right, it’s gonna get a whole lot worse before it gets better. She’s gonna need her family to have her back.”

“Yeah, which is why  _ I _ haven’t acted like a total dick to her and chased her off,” Claire points out and Dean winces.

“Point.”

“So, how about you swallow down your goddamn macho-man pride, put your big boy panties on, and get over whatever little bitchfit you had so you two can stop sulking like the emo losers you are and go back to doing that gross staring thing that creeps everyone else out.”

“Jesus,” Dean says with a grin, “the fuckin’ mouth on you, kid. Who the hell taught you to talk like that, anyway?”

Claire offers a faux-sweet smile. “I learned from the best.”

Disconnecting his call with Claire a few minutes later, Dean takes a deep breath.

And another.

One more for good measure.

How many is it before it counts as hyperventilating?

Okay. Enough stalling. Looking down at the phone clutched vice-like in his hand, he manages to pry his thumb away enough to type a message and hit send.

_ 14 days. Quarantine is over. _

_ I know you’re pissed at me, but we need to talk. _

_ Please. _

__

He’d thought about praying, of course, but well, some things need to be said out loud. Some things deserve to be  _ heard _ out loud. The last time Dean prayed to Cas, the angel had spared him from having to repeat his apology out loud, which had allowed Dean to chicken out of everything  _ else _ he’d wanted to say.

He’s not gonna let that happen again.

It’s three and a half agonizing minutes (not that Dean’s counting), before his phone buzzes with Cas’ reply.

_ I am not “pissed” Dean. _

_ But yes. We should talk. _

__

Shit.

Dean’s torn between marveling at how ridiculously goddamn cute it is that Cas air quotes in text messages (which, who even knew that was possible?) and feeling like utter garbage because he was  _ really  _ hoping Cas was pissed.

Letting out a deep sigh, he rubs his suddenly clammy palms against his jean-clad thighs before standing up and straightening the collar on the green flannel he’s wearing over his softest black t-shirt. This is the first time he’s been fully dressed since that cough first hit him two weeks ago. Sure, he’s still not really  _ going _ anywhere since pretty much all of Kansas is shut down, but it didn’t feel right having the conversation he and Cas need to have dressed in his cheeseburger pajama pants. And really, he should probably burn his dead guy robe after this…or at least wash it on hot a few times.

Angry, grumpy—hell, even vengeful Cas he can deal with. But if Cas is still avoiding him and really isn’t angry about the shit Dean said, then it can only mean one thing…Cas is hurt. Dean’s hurt the one fucking person he loves most in this world who isn’t a six-and-a-half foot tall man-moose comprised entirely of quinoa and kale. Again.

Shit.

Dean’s still trying to figure out how he’s ever going to make it up to Cas this time, especially given the fact that he’d barely begun to make up for  _ last  _ time, when the angel appears in his doorway. Christ, he knows Cas’ wings are out of commission these days, but that somehow doesn’t stop the asshole from just appearing out of thin air whenever it goddamn suits him.

“Uh, hey, Cas.”

Yeah. Good opening.

“The last COVID-19 treatment hospital in Wuhan has shut down.”

“I…huh?” All of Dean’s carefully rehearsed lines fall out of his head at the unexpected greeting.

“They no longer have enough coronavirus-infected patients requiring hospitalization to necessitate a separate facility.”

“Uh, that’s great, Cas, but y’know, some people might just start with ‘hi.’”

Dean has a sinking feeling this conversation’s already gotten away from him…and he’s not entirely sure they’ve even  _ started _ the conversation yet.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas tilts his head in that way that’s just so…Cas, and Dean feels his heart clench in his chest.

“Hey, Cas,” he murmurs, voice uncharacteristically soft. He knew Cas was still here, knew he hadn’t left the bunker, but every time he left a plate outside Dean’s door these past two days, a part of Dean wondered if it would be the last one. 

“The virus has passed its peak in China. The wave is receding. Areas that enacted protective measures early are seeing the curve flatten. Science grows ever-closer to a vaccine and there are early studies showing certain medication combinations may greatly reduce symptoms in those affected. Whether a part of Chuck’s master plan or not, COVID-19 will not be the downfall of humanity, Dean. I thought you would be…relieved to hear this.”

Finally understanding, Dean nods slowly. “Well, yeah, Cas. That’s great.” A slow smile breaks across his face as he realizes that for once, the world isn’t ending and he didn’t have to do anything to save it. Hell, all he had to do was cuddle with an angel and watch reruns of  _ The Office _ for two weeks. “Actually, that’s really great. Score one for humanity, huh?”

Cas smiles and Dean’s suddenly reminded why they’re having this conversation in the first place.

“While that’s really great news, Cas, it’s not exactly what I wanted to talk about.”

The way the angel suddenly won’t meet his eyes tells Dean Cas knows exactly what he wants to talk about. Cas looking as anxious as Dean feels somehow eases Dean’s nerves and he asks as gently as he can, “The other day, y’know, when I was an asshole and you stormed outta the Dean Cave? You asked if I even meant any of it.” Dean takes a breath. “What were you askin’ about, exactly? Were you talkin’ about what I said? About not needing y-" Dean stumbles on the word and clears his throat. “About not needin’ you taking care of me?”

“Not exactly,” Cas hedges, looking down at the threadbare blanket covering Dean’s mattress. Dean makes a mental note to buy some bedding younger than he is as soon as he stops having WalMart flashbacks of that silver-haired crone whacking him one-handed with her cane like she was Xena, Warrior Grandma.

Cas finally looks up to meet his eyes and when Dean gives him an encouraging nod, he sighs and continues, “When you were experiencing the worst of your fever, you…said some things, though I suspect you may not remember.”

Shit. Did Dean really get outed by his own fever-ridden brain?

“Oh yeah? What kind of things? Like, uh, feelings things or like, crazy-nightmare-monster things?”

Rolling his eyes Cas responds, “Yes, Dean, like ‘feelings things.’”

“So, why’d you ask if I meant it?”

Suddenly dodging Dean’s eyes again, Cas shrugs. “At first, I assumed it was just the fever talking. You became much more…affectionate, whenever your temperature spiked, and I know extreme physical states can sometimes heighten one’s emotional state as well.”

“But,” Dean prompts gently, knowing there’s gotta be more coming.

Cas sighs deeply, “But then your fever broke and while you didn’t  _ say _ anything further, you continued the…” he pauses and looks at Dean hesitantly, who rolls his eyes.

“The cuddling?”

“Exactly. I thought if you still wanted to continue that new aspect of our friendship, then perhaps it meant that you still meant the things you’d said, but I shouldn’t have assumed. And I know you don’t need me ‘coddling’ you. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Dean frowns, staring at their feet, his covered in socks that were probably once white and not a dingy yellow from the Bunker’s shitty well water and Cas’ in Jimmy Novak’s usual brown dress shoes.

It’s no wonder Cas got so upset the other day. Dean’s literally been running hot and cold on him (ha, fever humor). He apparently told Cas how he felt about him, spent a week wrapped around him like a giant squid, then basically told the guy he didn’t need him anymore.

Shit.

Maybe he should have been a little clearer that wanting to get away didn’t mean wanting to get away from  _ Cas. _ If anything, Dean wanted to get away  _ with _ Cas. He pictured it for a moment, just him, Cas, Baby and a long stretch of black asphalt leading their way. Yeah. If Dean actually survives this goddamn nightmare of a conversation, maybe they’ll go visit Jody and the girls…together.

But first…

“Okay,” Dean swallows, “first of all, I’m an asshole and I’m sorry.” Would you look at that? He’s getting better at this apology stuff all the time. He even said this one out loud. And this time it only took a couple of days without Cas, not weeks. Hit with a sudden bout of nausea as he thinks, again, about how Cas could have left and maybe even for good this time, Dean forces himself to meet Cas’ eyes.

“Second of all, not needin’ something you’re doin’ ain’t the same as not needing you. I’m always gonna need you, Cas, just because you’re you. Just like I always need Sam.”

Cas’ face closes off. “Because we’re brothers.”

“What? No,” Dean says sharply before softening his voice. “No man, not like that. I just mean you’re both…a part of me. You make my life better, just by bein’ in it.”

Cas dons a hopeful expression, which eases the churning in Dean’s stomach, but then his eyes narrow.

“Haven’t I heard you say the Impala’s a part of you, too?”

Dean scoffs, “Well yeah, Cas, but I like Baby a hell of a lot more than I do most people. That ain’t nothin’.”

“You were saying?” Cas asks drily, rolling his eyes and gesturing for Dean to go on.

“I was  _ saying _ ,” Dean takes a deep breath, “that third, not  _ needin’ _ something ain’t the same as not  _ wanting _ it.”

Biting his lip, Dean drops his eyes to the angel’s chest.

Cas’ voice, tentative but hopeful, asks, “So you’re saying you wanted it?”

Nodding, Dean swallows again, his throat suddenly parched. “Still do,” he croaks to the loose thread on the trench coat’s left lapel.

Stepping further into Dean’s space, Cas asks, “What is it you want, Dean?”

Immediately light-headed, since all of Dean’s blood is making an abrupt trip south of the border at hearing  _ those _ words in that gravelly voice, Dean licks dry lips, not missing the way Cas’ eyes zero in on them as he whispers, “All of it.”

“Does that mean you meant what you said during your fever?”

It takes Dean a minute, because he’s lost in crystal blue eyes that are as familiar to him as his own, but he finally manages, “To be honest, Cas, I don’t really remember what I said, but if it’s what I think it was, then yeah, I did.”

Stepping even closer, until they’re almost chest-to-chest, Cas asks, “What do you think you said?”

Years of conditioning have Dean wanting to step away, to withdraw, to hide. He forces those impulses aside and with more courage than it took to face the god, the devil, and even the angel who body-snatched him and made him do the most fucked up things, Dean closes his eyes and whispers, “Pretty sure I said I love you, because I do, Cas.” Dean licks his lips again, his voice wobbling as he adds “And not like a friend…or a brother. I—”

Cas’ lips are warm and dry against his. Insistent, but not demanding. Dean yields immediately, head tilting to grant the angel access, a surrender ten years in the making. A strangled sob escapes Dean as he thinks about how much time he’s wasted on his stubbornness, his pride and fear. They could have had this for  _ years _ and they’re only getting to it now, at the end of the world. Who knows how little time they could have left? The ever-present anger surges in Dean: anger at Chuck, anger at Cas, and mostly anger at himself. Desperate to drown it out, he presses himself against Cas, deepening their kiss and clinging to the angel. Cas stands sturdy and strong, Dean’s anchor in the storm.

Plunging his tongue into Cas’ mouth, Dean hears his own moan echoed by the angel. His hands tighten in the trench and he drags Cas ever closer, clutching him with the frenzied strength of a drowning man, because that’s what he is. After all this time, all these years of denial and repression, of anger and self-sabotage, of always pulling back or pushing Cas away every time he got too close, it’s just too much for Dean to take.

This. This kind of thing is for Sam. This passion. This happiness. This  _ love _ . Dean doesn’t get to have this. He doesn’t deserve it and he won’t get to keep it. Cas’ll leave. Or die. Or he’ll die. There’s no way in hell Dean’s going to be allowed to keep this.

His kisses take on an urgency, a biting, nipping need as he tries to take in as much of Cas as he can right now, in this moment, just in case it’s the only moment they get. Feeling the new edge in the way Dean’s mouth seeks safe harbor within his own, Cas winds his arms firmly around Dean’s torso, binding them together and slowing the pace of their frantic, panicked kissing to something deeper, weightier, grounding.

_ You can’t have this. _

Cas’ stubble drags along his own.

_ You can’t keep this. _

Cas’ hands smooth over the back of Dean’s cotton t-shirt.

_ You don’t deserve this. _

“Shh…Dean. It’s okay.” Dean doesn’t realize he’s crying until he opens his eyes and sees tear stains on the khaki fabric where his face is pressed against Cas’ shoulder.

_ He’ll leave. _

_ He’ll leave. _

_ He’ll leave. _

“You stayed,” he says thickly, voice incredulous. “Why’d you stay?”

Pulling back just enough to look Dean in the eye, a soft, open expression on his face when he answers, “You asked me to.”

Because of course it’s that simple. Dean wonders if it’s always been that simple and he just couldn’t see it. Taking a step back, he swipes at his eyes and chuckles awkwardly, feeling suddenly exposed.

“Shit. One kiss from you and I’m crying as much as Sam does every time he sees one of those goddamn Sarah McLaughlin commercials. This goes any further, I might actually start growin’ girl parts.”

Cas frowns at Dean’s sexism (really, Cas’ frowns and Sammy’s bitchfaces are nine tenths of the reason Dean says most of the bullshit he does) before raising a challenging eyebrow. 

“Oh? Does that make me the man in our relationship then?”

“Watch it,” Dean warns, pointing a finger at the smirking angel before using it to gesture between them. “So, uh, is that what this is then? A relationship? ‘Cause I gotta warn you, man, I don’t have the best track record with those. You sure you wanna go down that road with me?”

He tries to say it flippantly, but the knowing look in Cas’ eyes tells him he’s missed his mark by a mile.

“Only if that’s what you want,” Cas answers, looking suddenly uncertain again.

“Yeah? I’m gonna fuck up,” Dean warns. “I’m gonna be an asshole sometimes and I’m gonna say shit I don’t mean.”

“Just keep asking me to stay,” is Cas’ answer and Dean hears it for what it is.

_ Just let me know I’m wanted. That I’m needed. _

“I’m stubborn and hot-headed and when it comes to this feelings shit, I don’t know my ass from a hole in the wall nine times outta ten.”

Cas smirks. “Yes, Dean. I have met you.”

Ignoring Cas’ joke, Dean forges on. “You sure you want in on all that?”

Still looking amused, Cas shakes his head. “You aren’t going to convince me to stop loving you, Dean. Heaven itself couldn’t persuade me. Naomi drilled into my psyche, rewrote my core programming, and even she couldn’t erase my feelings for you.”

“Yeah, well, loving me doesn’t mean you won’t eventually get sick of putting up with my shit. Maybe Naomi couldn’t drive you away from me, but that doesn’t mean I won’t.” Unable to even fake an attempt at levity now, Dean’s as vulnerable as he’s ever been when he adds, “Doesn’t mean I won’t make you wanna leave again.”

Cas’ smirk falls as his face softens in understanding. The heartbroken look there is almost too much for Dean to bear. Shit. Has he actually convinced Cas that they shouldn’t do this? Has he realized already that a relationship with Dean isn’t worth the trouble? He drops his eyes to the floor, unable to look at that expression any longer.

“Dean,” Cas steps back into Dean’s space, gripping Dean’s chin in his hand and tilting Dean’s face up until their eyes meet, “please, I need you to believe me when I tell you that I  _ never _ wanted to leave you, not even that last time.” Blue eyes search Dean’s. “From the very first moment I found you in Hell, I’ve never wanted to be parted from you.”

Cas pauses, his eyes growing distant and his lips thinning as if he’s recalling something particularly unpleasant. He swallows before adding, “I can’t promise you we’ll never be separated again, neither of us have that power, but I can promise you that if we are, it won’t be my choice.”

“Mine either,” Dean whispers and then they’re kissing again, soft, inquisitive touches of lips and tongues quickly building toward something much more heated, though lacking the frenetic energy of earlier.

This feels good. This feels  _ right _ and for once, Dean decides not to question it. Looping one arm around Cas’ waist, Dean brings his other hand up to cup the angel’s face, Cas’ constant five o’clock shadow rough and perfect against his fingertips. Cas’s arms tighten around him in return and they’re pressed together, chest to hip and,  _ hello _ , is that?

Dean breaks their kiss on a gasp. “You happy to see me, there, buddy?” He asks with a smirk.

Tilting his head, Cas wrinkles his brow as he answers, bemused, “I’m always happy to see you, Dean.”

Belting out a sharp laugh, Dean pulls Cas into another kiss while deliberately pressing his leg against Cas’ crotch. “I appreciate that, but what I actually meant is that a specific  _ part _ of you seems happy to see me.”

“Oh,” Cas’ eyes widen in understanding before they roll back in his head as Dean continues to rub up against the angel’s rapidly filling cock. “Yes,” Cas half moans, “it would appear so.”

Lining their hips up, Dean drops his hands to Cas’s waist and pulls them flush together, letting the angel feel his own hardening length. “Well, you’re not alone there,” he murmurs swallowing the angel’s groan in another kiss. “You want somethin’, Cas?”

“I…yes…I…” Already panting, Cas buries his face in Dean’s shoulder.

Concerned, Dean pulls back a little, putting some needed but entirely unwelcome space between them, just enough to allow them both to think with something other than their downstairs brains.

“Hey, you okay? If it’s too much, too soon, we can slow down.” Dean runs his hands soothingly up and down Cas’ sides as the angel tilts their foreheads together, breathing deeply.

“It is a bit more…overwhelming than I anticipated,’ Cas says, a little breathless, “but as an immortal being who once spent half a millennium watching the same tree grow from sapling to towering pine, even  _ I _ think ten years is excessive when it comes to ‘taking it slow.’”

Dean rolls his eyes. Sassy angel.

“As long as you’re sure, sweetheart.”

At the word “sweetheart,” Cas surges against him, wrapping a hand around the back of Dean’s neck and driving his tongue into Dean’s mouth, possessive and claiming. Dean moans in surprise, letting Cas take control of the kiss. He’s just about to pry his mouth away from Cas’ long enough to suggest moving this party to the bed when—

“Hey, Dean, I can’t believe your quarantine is over and you’re still in your roo—oh.”

Startled, hunter and angel break apart, panting. Cas makes a move like he’s about to step away from Dean, but Dean fists his fingers in the angel’s trench coat, pinning him in place. Sam’s already seen them, so there’s no point in Cas being any further away than he has to be and Dean’s not ready to let him out of arm’s reach just yet. Besides, he’d been wondering how they were gonna tell Sam. Honestly, Dean’s more than a bit relieved to know they won’t have to. Not to mention, kissing Cas is  _ far _ from the worst thing Sam’s walked in on him doing in their long history of sharing small spaces.

“Hey, Cas.” Sam greets smugly, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his orangutan-arms.

“Sam,” Cas greets, his kiss-bitten lips much redder than their usual pink hue, but still nothing compared to his flaming face.

“So, Dean,” Sam says, turning his attention to the brother who is far more fun (and safe) to bait than a former warrior-of-heaven, “I’m getting ready to head out, but I thought I’d check-in first and make sure you’re really okay with me going.”

He grins at the two pink-tinted men, “Though now I’m guessing you’ll be okay on your own, after all. Unless this is just a really thorough way of checking Dean for the virus?”

“Incidentally, you are free of the coronavirus, Dean,” Cas supplies helpfully.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Cas. Good to know.”

Still grinning, Sam adds, “I don’t know, Cas. I get the feeling Dean may want you to check again. Can’t be too careful about these things, you know. He’s a responsible citizen that way.”

Narrowing his eyes at his brother, Dean points down the hall, “Sam, you got five seconds to get the hell outta here before you see things you can’t unsee.”

“Okay, I’m going.” Sam raises his hands and takes a step back as Dean, tugging Cas with him, moves toward the door. “But that ‘social distancing’ you were talkin’ about earlier applies to you and Cas too. I don’t wanna have to disinfect every surface in the bunker when I come back.”

Slamming the door in Sam’s face (he’d say orangutan-face, but there’s no need to insult the orangutans that way), Dean wastes no time in slamming Cas up against it, the angel hitting door with a heavy thud and a soft “oof.”

“Gross, Dean,” Sam’s offended voice travels through the wood. “You could have at least waited for me to walk down the hall, jerk.”

Dean smirks, but doesn’t waste time responding to Sam’s complaints when he has a brand-new angel-boyfriend to take apart. Hmm, boyfriend. He’s not sure that’s ever gonna be one he can say out loud without feeling like an idiot, but in the privacy of his own mind, Dean can admit he likes the way it sounds.

Taking advantage of their new position, Dean presses the angel into the door, delighting in the noises Cas makes as he grinds their hips together.

Hands slightly shaking, Dean reaches up to loosen Cas’ tie. Breaking their kiss, he takes a half-step backward and begins unbuttoning the angel’s dress shirt…slowly, both because Dean’s nervous fingers keep slipping and fumbling the buttons and because Dean has every desire to draw this out when Cas is looking at him like  _ that _ .

Cas watches Dean with the kind of intensity and worshipful awe that can only be achieved by a creature who’s spent eons practicing and perfecting those traits. The angel has said before that he thinks humans are the greatest of Chuck’s creations (douchey asshole that he turned out to be) and Dean’s never felt it ring more true than in this moment. He’s never gonna understand how, out of all the billions of humans on this planet,  _ he’s _ the one Cas is choosing to be with like this, but there are certain things in this life Dean’s learned not to question. Sometimes the best thing you can do is just keep your head down and focus on what’s right in front of you, speaking of which…

Dean drops his eyes from Cas’ flushed face to the narrow strip of tanned skin being slowly revealed as he works his way down Cas’ shirt. The tantalizing hints of well-defined abs and a navel that’s just begging for Dean’s tongue have him biting his bottom lip. This feels like unwrapping a present he never thought he’d get to have. His whole goddamn life has been winter in Narnia and now Christmas has come at last. (What? Dean reads. Okay, fine, he didn’t read it, but he did watch the movie, ‘cause Tilda Swinton’s a fucking badass.)

A quick glance back up tells him Cas isn’t faring much better. Using one hand to finish tugging the already loosened tie from his collar, the angel looks half-dazed as Dean reaches up to part his shirt, running calloused hands down Cas’ muscled torso as he kneels in front of the angel, stopping at Cas’ waistline to thrace his thumbs over goddamned perfect hip bones. He slides a hand around to Cas’ belt buckle, husky voice checking one more time, “This okay?”

“Please,” Cas begs, voice thready and breathless. The tie drops to the ground, royal blue silk piling at Deans knees.

“Yeah,” Dean swallows, “I got you, Cas.” He unbuckles the angel’s belt and unfastens his navy blue slacks before licking his lips and curling tentative fingers under the waistbands of Cas’ boxers and pants. On a slightly shaky exhale, he slides both down slowly to mid-thigh as Cas lifts his hips away from the door. Dean’s fingernails drag across sensitive skin, eliciting a shiver from the angel above him as Cas’ cock is freed from his restrictive white boxers. Thick and flushed almost purple, it juts out proudly from a thatch of dark hair, leaking head already glistening with precome.

_ Fuck. _

Sitting back on his heels, Dean takes in the rest of his gift for a moment. His eyes travel up Cas’ exposed thighs and cock to his bare midsection, his usually crisp white button up and suit jacket now equally wrinkled and shoved roughly to each side. Over it all, the angel’s ever-present trench hangs open and askew. Cas’ half-dressed state somehow makes this entire situation seem twice as lewd as it should be, this vessel of celestial grace, of heavenly perfection, so disheveled and debauched at Dean’s hands. Dean wonders vaguely if Moses felt half as powerful parting the Red Sea as he feels parting Cas’ layers. He doubts it, especially when his gaze finally reaches the angel’s face.

Cas’ lips form a wordless “o” as he stares down at Dean, his hair even more wild than usual. And Dean would swear the angel’s eyes are doing just a bit of that grace-glowy thing they do sometimes. That incredibly fucking  _ hot _ glowy thing that never fails to remind Dean (and his dick) that Cas isn’t just some nerdy dude in a trench coat, but is in fact an immortal, interdimensional badass that could snap Dean like a twig.

Dean shivers slightly under that otherworldly gaze before Cas’ eyes dim back to their usual crystalline hue, his hand reaching to cup Dean’s face.

“It’s okay, Dean.”

Dean snorts into Cas’ palm. “Really, Cas?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. “Be not afraid?”

Cas offers a half shrug. “You looked nervous.”

“Nervous?” Dean asks indignantly. “What do you—I’m not  _ nervous, _ ” Dean grumbles as Cas looks on in fond disbelief.

“Oh, yeah? How’s this for nervous?” Surging up on his knees, Dean wraps his hands around Cas’ hips, pulling their bodies flush as trails kisses across Cas’ ribs, sucking and nipping as he goes. Cas gasps as his cockhead rubs against Dean’s t-shirt, leaving a dark trail of precome across his chest, the angel’s fingers sliding around to the back of Dean’s head and tightening in his hair at the sudden friction against his dick trapped between them. 

Smirking, Dean moves his kisses lower, taking a moment to run his tongue along one sinful hipbone before sucking a mark there, earning a shudder for his efforts. Finally, though, he’s eye-to-one-eyed-snake with Cas’ celestial sausage (Dean should write poetry) once again. He swallows and takes a breath before leaning forward to wrap tentative lips around the head.

Truth is, Dean  _ is _ nervous. It’s been a minute since Dean’s had sex, sure, but it’s been a hell of a long time since he’s done  _ this.  _ He’d hope it’s like riding a bike, except Dean hasn’t ridden a bike since childhood and he’s about ninety percent sure that if his burger-and-pie-loving middle-aged ass climbed on a ten-speed now he’d make it all of three wobbly feet before tipping over and kissing asphalt.

Swiveling his tongue around the head of Cas’ cock, Dean hears the angel moan above him even as he feels his hips jerk reflexively at the sensation. The reminder that Cas is just as overwhelmed by all this as he is relaxes him once again and Dean begins to slide his lips along the angel’s shaft. He discovers fairly rapidly that though the knowledge of what to do is quick to return to him, his physical ability to  _ do _ those things is much more akin to his bike-riding metaphor than he’d like. The first time he tries to take more than half of Cas’s length into his mouth he gags, having to pull back and gasp for air.

“Are you okay?” Cas asks, voice sounding both concerned and thoroughly turned on, and Dean nods quickly, not wanting Cas to get spooked.

“Yeah,” he answers hoarsely, “just tried to run before I can walk, is all. You okay? I mean, does it feel…alright?” Dean flushes at the pathetic question, but Cas just smiles beatifically.

“Yes, Dean. It feels incredible.  _ You’re  _ incredible, but are you sure you’re okay? You don’t have to do this.”

“I know I don’t have to,” Dean assures him, “I  _ want _ to. You’ve done nothin’ but take care of my sorry ass for the past two weeks, Cas. Let me take care of you. You trust me?”

Fathomless blue eyes impossibly soft, Cas’ answer is immediate: “Implicitly.”

That single word warms Dean from head to toe and he takes the angel back into his mouth, alternating suction with deft swirls of his tongue as he works the half of Cas’ length he can’t fit into his mouth with a spit-slick hand and delights in the way Cas’ hand continues to cradle his head, not tugging or demanding, just moving with him. Cas moans and twitches above him and Dean can tell by the way the angel’s breaths are coming in short little pants that he must be close. His fingers tighten in Dean’s hair and the sudden sting has his already-throbbing cock twitching in his jeans.

Exhaling evenly, Dean relaxes his throat and slides his lips all the way along Cas’s shaft, until his nose is nestled in that coarse thatch of dark curls. The feeling of Cas’ head hitting the back of his throat causes him to swallow reflexively and that’s all it takes to push Cas over the edge. The trembling angel comes with a shout and hot, salty come hits the back of Dean’s throat. Coughing and spluttering, Dean swallows as much of the unexpected load as he can, but some still ends up trailing down his chin and onto his already stained tee.

One hand gripping the doorknob and the other still gripping Dean’s hair, Cas startles as Dean starts to cough. Hurriedly hauling up his pants, he drops to Dean’s side with considerably less grace than Dean is accustomed to seeing from the angel, reaching out to place a tentative hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“Dean? Are you okay? My apologies. I know that wasn’t proper etiquette for these types of scenarios. I admit, I got rather lost in the sensations and I didn’t expect…”

Coughing turning to choked laughter, Dean waves Cas’ apology away.

“Etiquette, Cas?” He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye. “You been doin’ a little Google research on Sam’s laptop while I was sleepin’?”

At Cas’ sheepish look, he snorts. “Tell me you at least knew to clear your search history.”

The sheepish expression turns into a confused head tilt and Dean shakes his head. Whoops. Sorry Sammy.

“Never mind. And I’m fine. Just caught me a little by surprise. But not a bad surprise,” he rushes to add, before Cas can start to feel bad about what they just did.

The last thing Dean wants is for Cas to feel bad because Dean, Dean feels fucking incredible. He’s still staring at Cas with what he knows must be a dopey, love-sick grin when Cas gestures nervously to Dean’s crotch and asks, “What about you? My…research led me to believe it’s customary for one to ‘reciprocate’ after receiving fellatio from a partner.”

Dean has to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the way Cas always goes all technical robo-angel when he’s nervous. Leaning forward, he stops the angel’s babbling with a soft kiss. “Later,” he promises. As much as he’s dying to feel Cas’ hand or mouth on his aching dick, there’s something else Dean wants more right now.

“Oh,” Cas responds, looking a little thrown that his “research” is failing him. “What would you like to do instead? I know you’ve been looking forward to getting out of the bunker…”

_ Understatement _ , thinks Dean as he finally stands and pulls Cas to his feet as well.

“Would you like to go for a drive in the Impala?”

Stretching out his stiff legs (fuck, he’s too old to be kneeling on the floor for that long), Dean considers it. Honestly, getting out on the road, sunlight warming their faces as Dean sits with one hand on Baby’s wheel and the other intertwined with Cas’, black asphalt stretching out in front of them, some Zepp the only sound filling the comfortable silence between them. It sounds like Heaven, for another day.

Right now, the only thing he really wants is the one thing that’s been denied him these past two days.

“That sounds great,” he answers honestly, “and we’ll do that, but maybe tomorrow? Today, if you’re okay with it, I think I’d just rather hang out here, y’know, like we did before.”

Cas nods slowly, “Okay, if that’s what you want. We could watch a movie?”

Dean nods in relief. “Yeah, Cas. That sounds great.”

Looking at Dean’s bed, expression slightly crestfallen, Cas adds, “I believe Sam took his laptop with him, so we’ll have to watch in the Dean Cave.”

Feeling his own face fall, Dean answers, “Oh, right. Yeah, I guess. It’s just…” Dean trails off, worrying his lip and looking down at his sock-clad feet.

“It’s just what?” Cas prompts, studying Dean intently.

Heaving a deep sigh, Dean officially says goodbye to his John Winchester-issued, circa 1958 mint condition man-card, figuring it’s probably as outdated as everything else in this bunker, “It’s just that the Dean Cave only has the two recliners, which means we can’t sit together and, uh, I’ve kinda missed, y’know, bein’ close to you these past few days.”

The words come out in a rush and it’s a long ten seconds of silence before he can bring himself to finally look up at Cas, who’s smiling softly, the asshole.

“Dean, are you saying you missed…the cuddling?”

Glowering at the smirking angel, Dean throws up his hands, “Yes, okay? I missed the cuddling. Specifically, I missed cuddling with you. Happy?”

The breathtaking smile on Cas’ face confirms that yes, he is most definitely happy and makes Dean wonder why he waited so long to say such a simple thing in the first place.

“I have an idea,” is all Cas says though.

After they both change into clean underwear and t-shirts (and  _ holy fuck _ is seeing the angel in Dean’s clothing doing things to Dean his red boxer briefs are in no way inclined to hide), Cas ushers Dean to the kitchen, instructing him to get himself a snack and then meet Cas in the Dean Cave.

When he finally makes it there fifteen minutes later, he nearly drops his sandwich and the two beers he’d grabbed for him and Cas. There, in the middle of the Dean Cave floor, is the memory foam mattress from Dean’s bed, made up with fresh sheets and covered with what looks like every spare pillow and blanket in the bunker.

Sitting in the middle of the sea of pillows is Cas, holding the universal remote and squinting in concentration as he pulls up Netflix.

Stifling a grin at the adorable scene, Dean sets the sandwich and beers on the floor before joining Cas on the mattress.

“Nesting, Cas?” he asks with a smirk.

Turning his head to glare at Dean, the angel bristles. “I am not a bird, Dean.”

“You do have wings,” Dean teases.

“Yes,” Cas agrees, leveling Dean with a look that should make Dean feel about the size of an ant, but somehow just manages to turn him on instead. “Three pairs of them. How many avian species do you know of with six wings?”

“Point,” Dean agrees easily.

“You complained about the recliners, so I thought this way we could ‘Netflix and chill’ properly.”

Choking a bit on the beer he’d just opened, Dean wonders if Cas has somehow learned what “Netflix and chill” actually means.

_ Nah,  _ he decides. Not likely. Though, he has been talking to Claire…

“My apologies,” he says on a cough. “Didn’t mean to ruffle your six wings’ worth of feathers.”

Eyes narrowed, Cas ignores Dean’s comment, turning back to the T.V. as Dean chuckles. The angel gets his revenge a moment later though, when he finds  _ Dr. Sexy _ in Dean’s Netflix queue.

“How about this?” Cas asks innocently.

Face tomato-red, Dean shrugs, “Yeah, sure. It’s not a bad show, I guess.”

“Not bad?” Cas raises an eyebrow. “It looks like you’ve viewed every episode, so I assume it must be one of your favorites.”

“Just click play, asshole,” Dean grumbles and Cas smirks triumphantly as he starts the show and settles back against the pillows, tucking an arm around Dean the same way he had in Dean’s bed all those feverish days and nights.

And just a few minutes later, before Dr. Sexy has even seduced his first nurse of the episode, Dean learns that Cas knows  _ exactly  _ what “Netflix and chill” means.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the ending of my little canon quarantine fic! You can reblog it on Tumblr, [here](https://a-mandala-rose.tumblr.com/post/616055817605611520/title-netflix-and-chills-rating-explicit), if you're so inclined.
> 
> If you enjoyed this little taste of our canon faves facing off with coronavirus and would like a little more, check out [Safe at Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23489344) by my beloved beta and incredibly talented writer friend, [EllenOfOz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenOfOz/pseuds/EllenOfOz).
> 
> If you're interested in seeing a little more of my take on canon Dean and Cas, check out [Angry, Angry, Angry Pie](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20289286) and [What I Need Most](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17960729/chapters/42419762).
> 
> As always, thank you so, so, so much for reading and sharing your time with me! A special thank you also to all essential workers who are spending their days and nights in hospitals, ambulances, grocery stores, big rigs, and so many, many more, so that daily life can keep moving forward, even when it doesn't feel like it to those of us who stuck at home, bouncing off the walls like poor Dean. 
> 
> Take care all, and stay safe. 💖


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